


[SHORT HIATUS] sophronise yourself not to open the gates of welkin, but instead to open the gates to my heart

by Counselor



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Blood and Gore, Carolina needs a hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, this one is a long haul for sure, wash needs a hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:41:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23853988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Counselor/pseuds/Counselor
Summary: Agent Washington wakes up on the staff of Charon after being certain he’d bleed out in a frigid snowbank on Sidewinder. The man responsible? His current boss, Malcolm Hargrove, who was more than happy to ensure the former convict’s survival.𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦, 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦.(Mercenary Washington AU, canon divergent from the end of Season 8 onward.)
Relationships: Agent Carolina/Agent Washington (Red vs. Blue), Felix | Isaac Gates/Locus | Samuel Ortez
Comments: 15
Kudos: 30





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> This story will be updated *bi-monthly*. I hope you, the reader, enjoy the intricately crafted alternate universe that is portrayed. While still very recognizable, a number of altered variables make it quite different in many ways as well.
> 
> Please, leave a comment if you feel so inclined! I love getting feedback, which I’ve previously gotten none of from AO3. Whether it’s constructive criticism or praise, leave it below!

———————Sidewinder———————

Washington was lying face down in the snow. He had watched as the Reds and Blues had managed to best the Meta, his intimidating form flung off a cliff by the simple force of a winch. Washington had extensive injuries... he knew he might not make it. To be honest, he didn’t really care at this point.

He had done his duty, as far as he was concerned. He had stopped the Meta’s brutal rampage. But now... he was done for good. He knew it. He lost consciousness, his warm blood oozing out of deep wounds to soak into the snow. Nothing left but dark...

Tucker was panicking. Church had apparently gone into the memory unit before it had shut down, and now Caboose was looking more depressed than he had ever seen him. Grif had given Tucker a scare when he almost fell off the cliffside. And Washington was dead, not that he cared a lot. But Grif was safe. He could talk to Caboose later. But Church... could be really be gone? For good?

For all the wisecracks Tucker had made about how Church was an asshole, he was also one hell of a friend. And now, he felt... empty. Blinking back tears, he put his arm around Caboose and guided him back to the planes, with the Reds and Doc in tow.

They hijacked a plane and flew it far away from the scene... from Church. Tucker put his arm around Caboose as they sat next to each other, allowing Caboose to lean into him a bit. He didn’t know how they were going to recover.

——————Staff of Charon——————

Agent Washington was laid out on an operating table. He didn’t know how he had gotten there, just that he was there somehow. Suddenly, he heard the Counselor. “Prepare Agent Washington for Epsilon AI implantation.” Washington tried to get up before they could implant the chip, but he saw that he was tied down to the table.

That wasn’t right. That wasn’t there last time. Washington screamed as Epsilon was thrust into his mind, immediately trying to self-destruct, kill itself in his head. He yelled and screamed until he found himself in a dark void. The voice in his head was gone. And then he opened his eyes to a blinding light.

A surgeon was standing over him. He could make out what they were saying. “...saying that I know the blood loss caused some hallucinations. But we’ve removed any and all bullets. as well as stitched up any deep cuts,” the doctor explained to a tall, stark man, the man’s angered facial expression matched only by his withering tone.

“This drastic of injuries... should not have happened in the first place. But, I am thankful that medical personnel such as yourself were here to ensure his survival. You are now dismissed.” The surgeon pulled the light back from Washington’s face and walked out of the room. Then, the tall, pale-skinned, dark-clothed man with a stern expression walked up to Washington’s side. Washington sat up.

“Wha... where am I?” he asked groggily. The man scowled at him. “I am someone who is very displeased with your most recent failure, Agent Washington,” he said icily. “Chairman...” Washington managed, rubbing the back of his head. “How... why did you save me? You could have - should have - let me die,” he said.

“Although your injuries were extensive, I made sure you got best care money can buy. But now... you have a debt to repay to me,” the Chairman said, stone-faced. Washington just stared at him. Someone actually thought that he, Agent Washington, was worth saving. The screw-up, the hapless rookie, the bottom-of-the-barrel pick as far as skillsets went.

Washington nodded. “If you’ll believe in me, I’ll do whatever it takes. You’ve given me everything,” he agreed. The Chairman smiled slightly and shook his hand. “That’s the spirit! In other news, our other recruits here at Charon Industries would love to have the opportunity to meet you, Washington. Whenever you get hungry, feel free to make your way to the mess hall and eat. Join the rest of us for a meeting in three hours,” he ordered.

“Understood, sir,” Washington replied. The Chairman nodded before turning to stroll out of the room, closing the door behind him. Washington let out a sigh now that it was just him in the room. He supposed that this was his chance to get his life back. So he would have to do some questionable things? He didn’t care. Because he knew that his actions would inevitably serve the greater good.

————————Valhalla———————

It had been two days. Two days since the fight on Sidewinder, and Caboose still hadn’t spoken. Tucker was actually starting to miss Caboose’s idiocy for once. Tucker sat on the floor of the base, his back to the wall, cleaning the hilt of his energy sword. Grif walked into the room and flopped down next to Tucker.

“Sarge... made us... run two laps... around the base... I’m... dying...” Grif managed as he sucked in breath after breath. Tucker just hummed in acknowledgement and continued to focus on wiping off the hilt.They sat in silence for a minute.“What’s up with you, man?” Grif asked, breaking the silence. “I mean, I know there’s this whole Red vs. Blue thing, but shit, man, you’ve gotta talk to us!” he added.

Tucker sighed. “Caboose... hasn’t been doing so hot since Church went into the memory unit. He’s definitely depressed about it. But I’m not some kinda counselor or something, so I don’t know what to do about it,” he told Grif. Grif sighed. “You’ve just gotta suck it up and become besties with him,” Grif finally answered.

Tucker stared at Grif incredulously. “What? No fuckin’ way I’m getting myself roped into that shit!” Tucker exclaimed. Grif punched Tucker in the shoulder. “Dude. I’m not fucking with you right now. He needs you,” he said seriously. “Y’know, I don’t think I’m cut out for this kind of thing. Just... take one for the team, please,” he said, standing up and walking out of Blue Base.

Tucker sat there for a few minutes. He fastened his sword hilt to his hip and sighed heavily. “Fuck... he’s right. Never thought I’d be getting advice from Grif... but then again... I never thought Church would be gone. For good this time,” he thought out loud. He stood up and walked out of the base.

——————Staff of Charon——————

Washington walked into a meeting room. Sitting at the long table that stretched the length of the room were two soldiers wearing gray armor. One of them had orange accents, the other had green accents. The Chairman sat across from the two soldiers. The Chairman turned around and beckoned for Washington to come and sit down next to the soldiers. He obliged, and sat in between them, facing the Chairman.

“Thank you for joining us, Agent Washington. We have much to discuss,” the Chairman said to him. “Introductions are in order, it seems. Agent Washington, meet Felix,” he pointed to the one with orange accents, “and Locus,” he pointed to the one with green accents. “They will be your new partners.” Felix reached over to shake hands with Washington, while Locus stayed still and silent.

Washington, surprised by this gesture, quickly shook Felix’s hand. Locus remained silent, staring at the Chairman. “In other news, the assassination attempt at the capital, which we called a ‘peace treaty signing’ has been completed, I assume?” the Chairmanasked. Locus nodded. “It is done,” he replied in a monotone. “Good work. This should keep them fighting even longer,” the Chairman mused.

Washington held a hand up. “I... don’t understand. What kind of operation are you running here?” he asked confusedly. Felix laughed. “Haven’t told him yet?” he asked the Chairman. The Chairman waved Felix off. “Unimportant. Just follow your orders, soldier,” he told Washington. Washington dipped his head in acknowledgment, staring at the floor.

“Mission briefing can wait until tomorrow. Be in my office at 06:00 sharp tomorrow for your orders,” the Chairman ordered. “Understood, sir,” Locus said, standing. Felix followed suit, and so did Washington. The three of them walked out of the meeting room, the door automatically sliding shut behind them as they stepped out into the hall.

“Come on, I’ll show you to your quarters, Rookie,” Felix said to Washington, seeming delighted at calling a freelancer a rookie. “Right,” Washington replied as he followed Felix, with Locus walking in the opposite direction. Once they had rounded the corner, Felix opened a door to walk into a featureless, empty room. Washington stepped inside after Felix, walking to the center of the room.

“This... is my quarters?” Washington asked, confused. Felix turned around, chuckling. “You still don’t get it, do you? You think we’re buddies or something? No fucking way, moron. If the boss is thinking about replacing me with you, I’ve got to make him think otherwise, you understand?” Washington tensed up. “Felix... what are you doing...?” he questioned.

Felix turned and kicked Washington in the stomach, sending him flying into the wall. “Making sure you know your place,” he spat, stalking toward Washington. Washington got up and lunged at Felix, punching. Felix blocked the punch with his hand before pummeling Washington in the gut a couple times. He drew his pistol and whipped Washington across the visor.

Washington fell, and couldn’t react fast enough to stop Felix from uppercutting his jaw with the metal handgun. He had the strong metallic taste of blood in his mouth as he fell backwards, his head hitting the floor. “I hope you know that everyone has their price. How much they’re willing to go through to achieve their goals. And you’re no exception,” Felix said coldly, exiting the room and slamming the door behind him. His vision went dark.

“Alpha?” the Director called out. “Yes, I’m here,” Washington replied. Wait - he wasn’t the Alpha. Or was he? ‘My name is Agent Washington’, he kept telling himself. My name is Agent Washington, my name is Agent Washington... it was the only thing that kept him sane. With Alpha’s memories slowly continuing to overwrite his own memories, he wasn’t really sure who he was anymore.

He knew it wasn’t his life. That he had no business having these memories. That he would trade anything and everything to not be burdened with them. But they still haunted him, and he still moved along through life as though he had seen a ghost. And in a way, he did every night. It lived inside his head, and enjoyed inflicting terror on his mind.

He felt himself shaking, the world around him flashing millions of colors, none of them welcoming to him. Just let me be, he longed to tell the ghosts inside his head. Just kill me and never wake me up. It’d be better than this, he wanted to say. But words had lost their meaning and appeal to him. The only language his heart understood now was emotion, and he was crammed chock-full of terrifying, crushing, crippling pain and anxiety.

Sure, he could take some pills. It wouldn’t keep the voices away forever. And, he thought, if he were always depriving himself of his senses in order to live, then living would be senseless. All logic told him to just lay down and never get back up. But the voices in his head made him restless. The memories he couldn’t forget. So he moved onward, but if not for himself, for who? He didn’t know why he did things. At this point, he just did them because it was something, anything, to take his mind away.

Washington woke up on the cold, metal floor. He checked the clock on his HUD display. 21:00 was the current time. No one had come for him after two hours, because no one cared. No one had, or ever would. It was just him and the memories of Epsilon. Inseparable for as long as he lived. He wasn’t sure he still wanted to live.

_But he had to try one last time._


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carolina begins her quest for blood.

\- - - - - - - - - [The next day] - - - - - - - - -

———————Valhalla———————

Simmons leaned on the wall of Red Base as he watched Lopez repairing the motorcycles, yet again. Sarge was out doing... ‘recon’, which Simmons supposed probably consisted of staring at the opposing base from afar for a few hours, muttering about how much he hated the Blues. And Grif was... probably off napping somewhere, if Simmons had to guess. So it was just him and Lopez for now, seeing as it was Donut’s wine and cheese hour. Thank god for that.

“So... what’s up?” Simmons asked Lopez. “Arreglando las malditas motocicletas... otra vez,” Lopez said, sounding exasperated. “I’m assuming you’re mad about the fact that I broke the motorcycles,” Simmons surmised. Lopez continued to tighten something with a wrench. “No. No estoy enojado contigo. Y Sarge se une al equipo azul. ¿Adivina qué? ¡Grif va a correr una maratón y perderá una tonelada de peso! Sí, estoy enojado, idiota,” he said, sounding annoyed.

“Um... mind if I help you?” Simmons asked, fidgeting with his hands. “Sospiro,” Lopez sighed loudly. “Bueno, si eso te obliga a cerrar la boca por una vez en tu vida, entonces inténtalo,” he replied. “Um, I heard ‘si’, so I’m going to try and help now,” Simmons said, crouching beside Lopez to take a look at the underside of the vehicle. Lopez shook his head. “Énfasis en ‘intentar’,” he spoke, chuckling mechanically.

——————UNSC Outpost——————

“Emphasis on try...” a recruit spoke at a table near hers in the cafeteria. “Hey, man! It’s me. I can totally get any chick with my pick-up lines,” she heard another reply confidently. She got no enjoyment or humor out of watching these idiots make fools of themselves every day. And now the second recruit was strolling toward her table. He stopped in front of her, leaning on the table’s edge as she looked up at him. “Hey baby, I heard-“

He was cut off as she sprang up and punched him right in the face. The recruit staggered backward, not having any time to recover before she was on top of him, pummeling the living daylights out of his skull. She didn’t stop until she could see that blood was trickling out of his nose and welling on his lips. She stood up, brushing herself off and walking back over to her spot. She sat down and continued eating.

The recruits at the other table were staring wide-eyed at the one who had tried his luck. He still hadn’t gotten back up. “Jesus christ...” one of them muttered. “Well, she didn’t rip his spine out. Damn... guess I shouldn’t have bet my money on that...” another said, gazing at the bloodied recruit on the floor. A smirk crossed her face. If nothing else, it at least felt liberating to be in a place where she could kick anyone’s ass if she really wanted to.

But it was starting to get boring. The war was over... and it was frustrating that no one she met ever truly understood her. Her past, the memories she couldn’t just brush aside, though she had tried hard to. However hard she tried to fight it, she knew in her heart that she could never forget everything and move on. She wasn’t McAllister. She was Agent Carolina. And she was hungry for revenge.

She got up from the table, placing her meal tray on the rack before walking out of the mess hall. She jogged all the way back to the barracks, back to her quarters. She shut and locked the door behind her as she sat on the floor, perusing a data pad for the information she had just recently found out.

There was someone who would know better than anyone else where the Director was hiding. She knew that he might not be the most trustworthy. She hated him. But she hated the Director infinitely more. So she would work with him, for now. But first... she would have to go and get him. Carolina ran to the aircraft hangar, quickly jumping into the cockpit of a pelican and taking off, flying it away. There were no witnesses.

As the pelican cleared the planet’s atmosphere, Carolina clenched her fists. She was the only one left from her team. The only one that could make the Director pay for ruining all of their lives, then ending them in one way or another. Her gaze hardened into steel as the gazed out into the cosmos. If she didn’t make him pay, then no one else in this vast universe ever would. Not really. Not as much as she was going to make him.

——————Staff of Charon——————

Locus sat on his bunk, pondering how he had done on his most recent mission. He heard the door unlatch and looked up to see Felix strolling into the room, his helmet under his arm. He was wearing a satisfied smirk. “What did you do...?” Locus asked, knowing that Felix had probably been up to his usual antics.

He smiled. “Showed the new recruit a warm welcome,” he said, a glint in his eyes. “Felix! You didn’t!” Locus exclaimed angrily. Felix put his hands up in defense. “I want to see if this guy is the real deal. I’m gonna see him again before tomorrow’s briefing, and see how he’s taken it. Find out if he’s already cracked,” Felix explained. Locus sighed. “You really do have an odd way of making friends,” he said, placing the palm of his hand over his face.

Felix shrugged, walking over to slap a hand on Locus’s shoulder. “Well, since I met you, it’s obviously working,” he said flatteringly. Locus just grunted in acknowledgement as he cleaned the barrel of his sniper rifle. “Something wrong?” Felix asked, keeping a hand on Locus’s shoulder, twirling a knife in his other hand. “Isn’t this... pretty normal for me?” Locus asked quietly. Felix shrugged. “Guess so. You’ve never been much of a talker,” he reasoned.

Locus looked up from the gun in his lap. “You, on the other hand... I thought you didn’t care about anyone other than yourself. That’s... kind of... your thing,” Locus said, a hint of surprise in his voice. Felix patted Locus on the back. “Well, we’re partners. And partners look out for each other, for the good of the mission,” he replied. Locus sighed and nodded, glancing back down at his sniper rifle.

Felix pulled his hand away and sheathed his knife, making his way to the changing rooms. Locus shook his head slightly as he resumed cleaning his gun. He didn’t know what to make of Felix at this point. He was a lot of fun, Locus had to admit. But what did he want out of all of this? He figured that his questions would have answers presented to him in time.

Suddenly, Locus watched as an exhausted Washington walked into the room, his arms hanging at his sides. Locus stared at Washington, and he saw staring back. “Do you... need something?” Locus asked quietly after a minute of silence. Washington shook himself out a little and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m just tired... would you mind telling me where my bed is?” Washington asked blearily.

Locus pointed to the opposite side of the room, where a single bed was pushed neatly into the corner, with a small nightstand next to it. “There.” Washington nodded gratefully and laid on the bed, his body sinking into the mattress. Locus continued from cleaning the barrel to the scope. He had to make sure that we was as effective as possible on the next mission he went out on.

Locus relished these quiet moments, away from Felix’s incessant chatter. He just needed a break sometimes. He was at least glad that the rookie didn’t seem like the talkative type. He could just take a break from talking now and-

“What’s up with Felix?” Washington suddenly asked out of the blue. “What do you mean, what’s up with him?” Locus questioned defensively. “I mean, why did he feel the need to rough me up?” he asked. It seemed like a sincere question. Locus sighed. “He’s tough to work with. But we’re the best at what we do. So I wouldn’t suggest getting in his way again,” Locus answered, his tone serious.

“But I didn’t-“ Washington stopped himself, “-nevermind. I’m going to sleep.” Locus watched as he turned to face the wall and fell asleep. Locus hung his gun on a rack on the wall before walking back to the bottom bunk and laying down. He fell asleep quickly, knowing that tomorrow would be a long day.

———————Valhalla———————

Grif got back to the base to find Simmons and Lopez standing around a burning motorcycle. “What. The. Fuck,” was all Grif could manage as he stared at the carnage. “How did this even happen? I was gone for, like, and hour!” Grif exclaimed. Simmons turnt his gaze downward. “¡Esta mierda usó un soldador en lugar de una llave inglesa, y él jodió todo!” Lopez exclaimed angrily, glaring at Simmons.

Grif watched as Donut walked out of the base to come and stand with them. He glanced at the flaming vehicle. “You should all back away from the fire. You’re all too hot!” Donut exclaimed. Grif sighed and put a hand on Simmons’s shoulder. “Let’s just go...” he said. Simmons nodded. “Lopez, you can fix this on your own, I’m sure. Let’s go,” he said as he and Grif walked away. Grif heard Lopez yell “¡Pendejos!” at them as they walked further away from base.

“So... what’s up with you?” Simmons asked as they walked. Grif shrugged. “Not much, I guess,” he responded. “I mean, the only time anything happens is when Sarge wants to attack the Blues or when more Blue Team problems come up,” he continued. Simmons sighed. “Speaking of the Blues... how about Church, huh?” he asked.

Grif looked down at the ground, watching as his footsteps sent pebbles skittering across the pathway. “I kind of feel bad that I never got to know the guy. He seemed like the only one on Blue Team that wasn’t annoying as hell most of the time,” Grif said quietly. Simmons nodded. “Same thoughts here. That must suck for them,” he agreed. Grif sighed. “You and I have no idea.”

——————UNSC Tartarus——————

“I’m jus’ sayin’ that it’d be so much better if all them damn aliens jus’ went back n’ stayed where they belong,” a crew member wearing armor with yellow accents said. “You know that’s not how it works, Stass. You’ve only been here two weeks, and you’ve already managed to make Kilgore sound smart in comparison to you,” a crew member with green armor accents retorted, earning a snicker from Kilgore.

Stassney muttered something under his breath as Kilgore chuckled. “Good one, Blanton,” he commented. A few seconds passed. “Wait... what did you say?” Blanton ignored both of them. “We should get back to the bridge,” he said. “Kilgore, have you still got the key card?” he asked. Kilgore felt his armor pockets. “If I say no, will you kill me?” he asked nervously. “That depends on if you’re alone with no potential witnesses around,” Blanton said, sounding annoyed.

“Oh...” Kilgore said, looking down at the floor. Stassney slapped his knee. “Ya done fucked up now!” he exclaimed, and Blanton could only guess that he said it with a big, stupid grin stretched across his face. “Well... shit. We’re trapped in here,” Blanton muttered angrily. “Captain Mayers is going to kill us for this. You two know that, right?” he asked Kilgore and Stassney.

The two of them shared a frightened look before beginning to pound at the door of the room. “Get us outta here! I don’t wanna be demoted to a janitor!” Stassney wailed. “Please, help! We’re being murdered!” Kilgore yelled. He glanced back at Blanton. “Do you think we’re overdoing this at all?” he asked Blanton. Blanton smirked under his mask. “Not at all,” he said, chuckling softly.

Carolina stalked down the halls of the Tartarus, making her way to the cell where she knew the man was being kept. She had been able to walk past guards without them stopping her earlier because of her armor ability, which allowed her to blend in well with the guards, if not seamlessly. She made it to the cell and saw a man sitting on a bench in the far corner of the cell.

She rapped on the cell bars, and the prisoner got up from where he was sitting, walking over to be face to face with Carolina. She stared at him, momentarily forgetting about her mission as she gazed at the man’s familiar face. The prisoner cleared his throat before speaking.

_“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Aiden Price.”_


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are set in motion that will lead to consequential future outcomes in their colliding paths.

\- - - - - - - - - [the next morning] - - - - - - - - -

——————UNSC Tartarus——————

Carolina woke up as light filtered through slits in the closet door. She carefully pushed the door open and stepped out, making sure there were no guards nearby. She had slept in the storage closet to avoid detection, and she had set an alarm to wake up when she knew the guards would be changing shifts. She had to move quickly, or she would botch her only chance until tomorrow morning.

She casually walked into the brig, which was empty of guards, but full of prisoners. She ignored their ragged shouts and spiteful comments as she walked to stand in front of one cell in particular. She took out a tactical instrument and wrapped a metal wire around the cell bars. She then activated the tool, and it heated the wire to the point that large sections of the bars were melted off and disconnected, clattering, sizzling to the floor.

The Counselor stepped through the gap in the cell bars, his mouth turned upward in a slight smile. “Well done, Agent,” he said, his tone cool and controlled. “From now on, you call me Boss,” Carolina snapped at him. He backed away slightly. “Understood, Boss,” the Counselor said, sounding patient and obedient as ever. “Okay, so... you know where the Director is hiding, right?” Carolina asked.

“Yes. But first, with all due respect, I believe there is someone else here who may be able to assist us in our primary objective,” he interjected. Carolina stared at the Counselor quizzically. “Show me,” she commanded. “Of course, Boss,” he replied smoothly. Carolina followed him as he lead her almost all the way to the solitary confinement cell. He held up a hand, signaling for her to stay put.

The Counselor walked in front of the cell. “Hello. Would you like to get out of this place?” the Counselor asked to someone inside the shadowy cell. Scarred, muscular hands finally gripped the bars, and a deep and sinister voice simply replied, “Yes.” The Counselor frowned slightly. “I will warn you that... you will have to take orders from a commander that you may not agree with,” he said in a cautionary tone.

Carolina heard the prisoner chuckle harshly. “What am I gonna say, Aiden? No?” he questioned. The Counselor sighed. “You will have to take orders from a freelancer,” he said quietly. The prisoner’s silence drew out, until she heard him let out a low, guttural growl. “You... you WHAT?!?” he yelled. “Those monsters murdered my only family, disfigured me, ruined my life! How the hell am I supposed to work with them?” he ranted angrily.

“Sharkface, please. It’s your only way off of this prison ship. Help us, and you never have to see her again,” the Counselor implored him. The silence between them seemed to drag on for minutes. Finally, the prisoner spoke up quietly. “I’ll do it. If it gets me out of here. Away from everything,” he said quietly, his voice now low and determined. The Counselor nodded. “Very well. You will be free momentarily,” he assured as he walked back over to Carolina.

“What was that all about? Who is he?” she asked, puzzled. “He was formerly an operative for the security force operated by Charon Industries. He’s formerly from the Resistance,” the Counselor explained. “What? How the hell can I trust him? How can he trust me?” she asked, still confused. “Let me talk to him, and everything will be sorted out. I’ve known him for a very long time on this ship,” the Counselor replied.

“Very well, I’ll get him out of there,” Carolina replied, walking in front of the cell and repeating the process of cutting through the bars by melting them. As Sharkface stepped out of the cell, his gaze met with Carolina’s. “I should kill you right now. But I made a promise, and I can’t go back on that,” he said, staring daggers at her. She put her hands on her hips. “That’s no way to talk to your new boss,” she said. “What’s your name?” she asked the muscular prisoner.

“The name’s Sharkface. If you recall, you and Agent Washington nearly killed me before murdering all of my close friends in that building,” he said, his tone biting. Carolina shuffled her feet as glanced down at the ground. “I didn’t know what I was doing. And now, you’re going to help me kill the person who ordered me to do it,” she said, returning his gaze.

Sharkface didn’t respond, his gaze unreadable as he looked at Carolina. “I’m on your side,” she said, extending a hand. Sharkface hesitated for a moment before shaking her hand. He didn’t smile a crooked smile like she would have expected him to at the thought of getting revenge on the Director. Instead, she saw hurt and anger burning in his eyes as he pulled his hand away. “We’re going to make that son of a bitch pay,” he said, his voice low. Carolina nodded. “Damn straight.”

——In a spacecraft, en route to Chorus——

Washington sat silently, avoiding the gazes of both Felix and Locus as the three of them sat silently in the back of the ship. The ride had been smooth and uneventful for Washington. He liked it when things were like that. Meant they weren’t trying to kill him like everything else was.

“Like, I’m just saying, it can’t be a coincidence that we have a team of the three colors between red and blue. Ya know? I bet that’s some symbolic shit right there, like we’re being surrounded by red and blue enemies and we’re going to be fighting back,” Felix said. Locus looked over at him and sighed. “The color thing is probably the... most enlightening thing you’ve said all day. Just stop talking.”

Felix crossed his arms. “Hey! Red and blue! It’s just a prediction, man. Plus, I have more evidence that colors have significance,” he defended himself. He then looked over at Washington, and and Washington knew that Felix was smirking smugly under his helmet, staring at him with distaste.

“I’m orange, and I’m the people person who’s super skilled with knives. You’re green, and you’re the super professional soldier who’s super strong. Washy boy over here is yellow, in between our two colors. Fitting, considering he isn’t good with people, but he also isn’t very strong at all. I bet he can’t even do anything worthwhile with a knife,” Felix taunted. “Actually, I’m pretty good with knives...” Washington mumbled.

Felix tilted his head. “What was that? Sorry! I can’t hear you over the sound of your raging insanity!” Felix said, chuckling. Washington clenched his fists, seething. Why did everyone have to bring up Epsilon? But it wasn’t like he was too bothered by it... okay, he was extremely upset about the ordeal and hated when people talked about it. He just had to put up with these assholes until the job was done, and then...? He didn’t know. He just knew that he would be in a better position than he currently was.

Washington looked down at the floor, thoughts burning with resentment. He just hoped that once his debts were all repaid, the world would collectively stop pushing him down and kicking him until he coughed up blood. That would be the least this universe could do for him, after everything that had transpired. His last bit of sanity was rooted in that distant hope, and he wasn’t ready to let it slip away so easily.

———————Valhalla———————

Tucker decided to stop lounging around base and walked outside to find Caboose sitting on the ground, picking at some grass. Tucker sat down beside him. “What’s up with you?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. What he really wanted was to get a glimpse into Caboose’s mindset about the shitshow that had been the past half-week. Caboose was silent, ripping clumps of grass with both hands absent-mindedly. “Uh... you in there?” Tucker asked, a little concerned.

Caboose didn’t answer, his visor gleaming in the afternoon sunlight as he fiddled with something that looked like a speaker on his chest piece. A crackling recording started to play. “Hey, Caboose. This is Church, leaving a message for you, my... best friend. If you’re ever sad, just play this. I think it might help to hear the sound of my voice every once in a while, since... since I’m not there anymore.”

Tucker choked up at the voice of his old teammate. “Caboose-“ he started, but stopped as Caboose stood up and walked away, the recording playing as he continued to wander aimlessly away from Tucker. Tucker walked after him, calling for him to stop, but eventually gave up, sitting down on a boulder. If Caboose wanted to be alone, he would let him have his alone time.

Tucker stayed in place like this, pushing back sorrow and trying to focus on the good memories. Memory was the key, after all. That phrase used to be pretty important, but now it was vital. Memories were all he and Caboose had left at this point. Tucker resolved that he had to do something to get Caboose to stop moping around. Cheer him up somehow. But what?

Wait... Church wasn’t dead, Tucker remembered. He was just trapped inside the memory unit when it locked down! So that meant that they could still get Church out of there. But he didn’t know where the UNSC had decided to store the memory unit. They had probably hidden it some place that most people wouldn’t look, which didn’t exactly help. Tucker sighed as he slid down off of the boulder and stood. He knew who he needed help from.

—Different spacecraft, en route to Chorus—

Carolina put the ship on autopilot. It would be a few hours before they reached their destination on Chorus. She wasn’t going to sit behind the wheel without doing anything that whole time. She walked out of the cockpit and into the hull of the ship.

She found Sharkface, now wearing the armor of a guard that he had stealthily killed and robbed. “Look good, Boss?” he asked as he finished spray paining the helmet, setting the canister on the floor, and looked to Carolina after putting the helmet on. “Uhm... yes, Sharkface. Looks... good,” she said, still quite unnerved by the sight of his seemingly soulless abyss of a left eye.

Sharkface looked away as he realized what was making her uncomfortable. “Hey. I have that because of you, Carolina. Show a little class,” he said bitterly, cleaning the barrel of his gun, which was now resting in his lap. Carolina stared at the ground. “It’s Boss,” she responded quietly, walking past him to stand beside the Counselor, who was standing at the back of the ship.

“How likely would you say it is that he would betray me?” she whispered to the Counselor. He shook his head. “Not likely at all. He currently sees himself as being in your debt, so he will most assuredly continue to follow your orders until the primary objective is completed,” the Counselor responded. Carolina nodded. “Thanks, Counselor,” she said, sitting down in a seat. He smiled. “I’m only doing my job.”

Carolina glanced over at Sharkface as he cleaned his gun. She didn’t trust anyone anymore, after what happened to the rest of the freelancers, but... here was a member of the resistance who had fought against the evil plans of Project Freelancer every step of the way. So, he had been fighting against tyranny, which she could respect. But she knew that he sure as hell didn’t respect her. And she was fine with that. She just needed to use him for her plan, and then he could die for all she cared.

“And you’re sure the Director is hiding out on Chorus?” Carolina asked the Counselor. He nodded. “He most certainly is. The Federal Army of Chorus has provided him refuge, and in return he has begun work on a secret project in order to help them win the ongoing civil war with the New Republic,” he replied.

Carolina sighed. “Guess we’ll be siding with the rebels, then,” she said, a hint of annoyance in her voice. She didn’t want anyone to help her accomplish her goal, but she did need more manpower if she was going to make it past an entire army. “That seems to be the best course of action,” the Counselor affirmed. She shrugged. “Guess we’ll get to be the rebels for once. Sharkface has lots more experience in that area,” Carolina said with a quick glance toward the red-accented soldier.

_The Counselor chuckled softly. “This should be interesting.”_


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Chairman finally gets his hands on Epsilon, but he’s got bigger things in mind than simply keeping it as evidence.

\- - - - - - [afternoon of the next day] - - - - - -

————Inside the Memory Unit————

A soldier in cobalt blue armor sat on a crate, the midday breeze making the pale yellow-green blades of grass twitch in the meadows that lay between the two steep, rocky walls of the gulch. The sky was a bright, vibrant blue, like always, dotted with wisps of white. A shadow was cast over the soldier, sitting on a crate and cleaning his gun, by the concrete structure that stood directly behind him. The faint sound of waves lapping on the shore of the beach could be heard coming from behind the base. As light clouds drifted over the canyon, the man sighed in contentment, gazing out upon his home.

“Church!”

He tried to ignore the annoying voice, humming quietly to himself as he continued cleaning his-

“Church! You gotta get over here, man!”

Church groaned and stood up. “God damn, Tucker’s annoying as all hell. I’m gonna murder that son of a bitch if he calls my name one more-“

“Church! Get your ass over here quick!”

Church bit back a curse and started to jog toward the voice. “I’m going to punch him in the throat when I get over there,” he muttered angrily as he quickly made his way to where Tucker was standing. Having worked up a bit of a sweat, he stood next to Tucker with his hands on his knees. “What’s... what do you need me for?” he managed breathlessly. Tucker put his hands on his hips. “Caboose swallowed a grenade.”

Church did a double take, his anger forgotten. “Tucker, what did you just say?” he asked. “Caboose swallowed a grenade. I just thought you should know,” Tucker said nonchalantly. “And... how did this happen?” Church asked, exasperated. Tucker shrugged. “Hell if I know! He said that they were green pineapples and he shoved one down his throat before I could stop him,” Tucker explained. “Ah shit, I guess I did tell him that just to screw with him. But I never thought - oh god...” Church trailed off.

“Where is he?” Church asked, an edge of concern to his voice. “Last time I saw him he was in the base,” Tucker replied. Church narrowed his eyes. “So... you called me out here, away from the base, to tell me that I should go check on someone in the base?” he asked incredulously. “You know it! Besides, you need the exercise,” Tucker retorted, probably wearing that stupid smirk that Church hated. “Thanks, Einstein,” Church muttered before running back in the direction of Blue Base.

“Caboose! Where the hell are you?” Church shouted as he walked into the base. “I am here!” Caboose shouted back, walking around the corner and up to Church. “WHAT DID YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT?!?” Caboose practically shouted at Church. “You can stop yelling now, dipshit,” Church said, by this point already fed up with dealing with people today.

“So... you swallowed a grenade?”

“Green pineapple.”

“Ugh... if I have to hold the barf bucket again after we feed you the reflux pills, I can’t be held responsible for what I’m going to do!”

“Neat.”

“Jesus Christ. I’ll help you in a minute. Just don’t... chew your thumb off or anything, okay?”

“Yes, thank you best friend Church.”

Church sighed heavily as he walked away from the idiot in regulation blue and in the direction of Blue Base. He closed his eyes as he walked, letting the rays of sunshine bathe him in their warmth. One of the few times he could let himself truly relax were on long walks like this. He opened his eyes again, and he did not recognize his surroundings.

Church was shocked to find himself seeming much smaller in comparison to his surroundings, standing on a metal lab table. He looked up, dazed, at two masked scientists, who stepped away from the table as he came to his senses. A tall man loomed imposingly over the table with a proper and quiet demeanor. The man gazed down upon him, regarding him with a cold stare.

“Hello, Epsilon. As the UNSC Chairman and CEO of Charon Industries, I’d like to welcome you to the ranks of the greatest private army this galaxy has ever seen.”

—————New Republic HQ——————

Carolina walked through the halls of the compound on her way to the war room, Sharkface trailing close behind her. They were invited to meet with General Kimball in ten minutes to discuss the terms and provisions of their integration into the New Republican forces. From what she’d heard, it seemed that the Rebels had needed them more than they’d needed the New Republic, Carolina thought.

“Boss, what’s the plan?” Sharkface asked, his voice low as he glanced at the groups of soldiers they walked past. “Let me do the talking. With any luck, we’ll fit in here just fine,” she told him. Sharkface scoffed. “With my luck, I won’t even fit in my grave once I finally get killed,” he retorted. Carolina shook her head slightly as she continued to walk. “I’m not planning on letting you die,” she said matter-of-factly. Sharkface was silent as he returned his gaze to the floor, continuing on in silence.

As they strode into the war room at last, Carolina looked at a soldier in tan armor with light blue accents and a blue visor, who was seated at a long table and flanked by tan-and-green suited rebel soldiers. “Please, Carolina, Sharkface, have a seat,” the one who she assumed to be General Kimball said. The two did as they were told, sitting at the opposite end of the table from Kimball.

“As I assume you are already aware, my name is Vanessa Kimball, and I am the leader of the New Republic. I am aware of the circumstances that have brought you here, but I must ask of you something in return for my help,” she said, her gaze set on Carolina and Sharkface. “If we help you to track down and kill the former director of Project Freelancer, will you promise to fight with us for as long as it takes to win this war?” she asked.

Carolina and Sharkface nodded in unison. “We’ll do whatever it takes, General,” Carolina replied in a professional tone. Kimball nodded. “Good to hear. I will assemble squads for both of you to command, and call you back here tomorrow morning for an orientation and training with them. The keys to your quarters will be at the front desk,” she informed them. “Understood,” Carolina affirmed. Kimball nodded. “You are both dismissed.”

———————Airport———————

Tucker shifted as he stood in line, lightly tossing his sword hilt in his hand as he waited to get to the front. Up ahead of him, Sarge, Grif, and Simmons were bickering over what their seating arrangement on the ship would be, with the crimson soldier insisting he get the window seat so that he could keep watch for enemy aircraft, and the orange soldier refusing to budge on his demand that he get the window seat so that he would have a wall to lean against as he slept. Simmons just refused to have the middle seat, and Donut was making friendly conversation with other people in line.

Caboose trailed slightly behind Tucker, talking to Doc about medical procedures. Caboose was an idiot, and Doc wasn’t exactly one of the best in his field, so Tucker was sure that conversation was about as productive as the ones the group usually had. Caboose had been overjoyed when Simmons had said, after being asked, that it was possible Church was still around.

Possible.

The word made Tucker’s skin crawl. Not certain, not even probable. Just a big maybe. A word that was eating him slowly from the inside out, even if anyone who saw him would say that he was fine. And that might have been true physically, but emotionally, deep down, he wasn’t okay. Church was his teammate and his leader, dammit! He had to still be out there. Or else...

Tucker shut that train of thought down before it could get going. They were going to find Church. He would make sure of it.

“Excuse me, sirs, but may I ask why you’re holding real, loaded weapons at this checkpoint?” a security guard asked as he stared down in shock at the weapons that each member of the Reds and Blues brandished. Tucker glanced down at his gun he washolding and sighed in resignation. “Cavity search, right this way,” the employee said, pointing toward where they would have to get additionally vetted and checked.

“Ohh mierda,” Lopez said as they began to be ushered over by the airport security officer. “Woo! Just when I thought this trip couldn’t get any better!” Donut exclaimed too loudly. Grif and Simmons both hissed at him to shut up. Tucker groaned and followed. Any delays were bad, meaning that Church was in danger for longer. It wasn’t like him and that asshole were actually friends. They just hung out a lot, and had a lot of banter, and trusted one another, and-

He stopped thinking like that,because he could admit that they were definitely good friends. That idiot. He was going to get him back, and then annoy the hell out of him for a week once they were all back in Blood Gulch after all this. Church always came back, so, no biggie, right?

He had a bad feeling about this.

—————F.A.C. Outpost 37—————

Washington stood in the corner, sharpening his knife against a piece of metal. A small amount of sparks showered off of the blade as it was sharpened, trading a weathered blade’s edge for a new, sharper one. He stopped sharpening his knife and looked up from his task to see Locus, who had been standing there for who-knew-how-long.

“Locus. Is there anything you need from me?” Washington asked. Locus shook his head slightly. “Felix wants to meet with you right now,” he responded matter-of-factly. “Great, that guy,” Washington muttered as he shouldered past Locus to go find Felix, earning a questioning and quite threatening glare from the latter at the comment. Washington ignored it as he walked across the hall and into the training room.

Sure enough, Felix was where he said he’d be, spinning fiercely as he chucked throwing knives at a blistering velocity toward a line of dummies, each blade hitting its mark without so much as a hiccup. After Felix had finished throwing yet another salvo of blades, he looked up and spotted Washington standing in the doorway. “Oh, Washy Boy! Glad you could make it,” Felix said, tone dripping with sarcasm. Washington inwardly cringed at the nickname. “You... wanted to speak with me?” Washington asked, a little confused.

Felix let loose a laugh. Washington could tell it wasn’t a genuine one, though Felix was one hell of an actor. It was a sound that had been carefully cultivated to manipulate feelings and opinions to the mercenary’s side. “Oh, Wash, while I’d love to sit around and chat, there’s something else I’d like to do even more,” Felix said, twirling a combat knife around his hand. “And... what did you have in mind?” Washington asked cautiously. “Knife fight!” Felix exclaimed enthusiastically.

Washington considered this for a moment. He knew Felix had considerable skill with the blade, but his own was second to none, he believed. He could do this. “Let’s do it,” he agreed, pulling two knives and clutching them in either hand as he and Felix circled each other. The combatants locked gazes, and Washington remembered all of the teasing and physical violence he had been subjected to. He was going to make Felix bleed.

Felix made the first move, throwing a knife that sailed ahead of him as he somersaulted at Washington. Washington quickly sidestepped the throwing knife, blocking Felix’s uppercut with his forearm and slashing at his chest with a knife of his own. The knife sliced a gash across Felix’s chest, and crimson blood oozed from the wound as the mercenary staggered backward.

“You... bitch...” Felix groaned, clutching his chest. He quickly recovered, and before Washington knew it, three knives were headed straight for him. He managed to catch one and dodge another, but the third one sunk into his calf. He bit down on his lip hard as he reached down to pull the knife out. But Felix was rolling toward him once again, and he had no time to react to the incoming uppercutthat impacted him right in the visor.

Washington stumbled backward as Felix threw another knife. It sunk into Washington’s stomach with a sickeningly satisfying noise, and Washington’s cry of pain was cut short by another slice by Felix, which deeply cut into his bicep. Washington’s eyes watered as he flung himself at Felix once more with an angry yell. He pounced on the mercenary, pinning him to the ground as he stabbed a knife into Felix’s stomach. Felix gasped as it was pulled out as quickly as it had been stabbed in, and Washington brought it down again right on-

A firm hand grabbed his forearm and threw him off of Felix before he could strike again. He thunked against the wall as his body hit concrete. Washington caught part of Locus’s chastising of Felix.

“You idiot...”

“..could have been killed...”

“...partners, not enemies...”

But then, Washington heard Felix speak.

“...great opportunity for...”

“...A.I. implantation isn’t just...”

“...I think now is the time...”

Washington flipped himself so that he was now laying on his back. The blood loss was making him a little light-headed. Locus walked over and crouched beside him. The black-and-green mercenary seemed to hesitate for a second, before becoming more resolute. “I apologize for this,” were the last words Washington heard before a fist sent the world around him spiraling into darkness.

_He had a dreamless sleep. He should have known that the dreams would come back to haunt him soon enough._


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enemies-turned-teammates sort out their differences in the New Republic as the Chairman solidifies his grip on a new force of unprecedented power.

\- - - - - - - - - - - [a few hours later] - - - - - - - - - - -

—————New Republic HQ—————

Carolina watched as a soldier in orange and gray armor strode through the camp with a confident air surrounding him, chatting with a few soldiers and shooting some targets as he moved along. His aim was impeccable, suggestive of freelancer-level training. She was cleaning her gun when the soldier came to her.

“Hmm... seafoam-aquamarine-or-something-colored armor. You must be Agent Carolina,” he said as he approached her, leaning casually against the wall. She didn’t respond and continued to swivel a rod down the barrel, only glaring up at him in the annoyance, with a veiled interest. “Well, I’m Felix. A freelancer that works for the New-“ he was cut off as a pistol was pressed to his visor. “I- I mean a mercenary! You know, a gun for hire!” he exclaimed quickly. Carolina fixed him with a suspicious look before lowering her weapon.

“I don’t care. Just stay out of my way,” she growled as she holstered the magnum and turned her back, walking away briskly. She glanced back slightly to see Felix shrug before walking back to whatever he was doing. She would go and check up on Sharkface. With any luck, he wouldn’t have killed anyone yet, she thought with the closest thing to amusement her coldness would allow. She just really wanted to hit something, something that could dodge and fight back. A punching bag wouldn’t do, so she supposed that she had better get Sharkface to spar.

Carolina found him in the training room. He was in the middle of chewing out one of the recruits for his squad. “That’s how you knock someone down?” he asked loudly, his tone incredulous. “THIS is how you knock someone down,” he said, before kicking the recruit’s legs out from under him with a swift roundhouse. The recruit cried out in surprise as he hit the floor, face-first. “Dismissed,” Sharkface growled, and his squad members quickly and timidly filed out of the room.

Carolina walked up to him, ignoring his angry glare of a gaze burning into her. “Spar?” she asked curtly, and he nodded quickly. They wasted no time in positioning themselves in opposing places on the sparring mat. Sharkface made the first move, taking a swing at her, which was swiftly dodged, and he just managed to pull his hands back far enough to block the retaliatory strike.

Carolina now went on the offensive, unleashing a furious roundhouse kick, which Sharkface only barely ducked under before he was clocked in the side of the head by a fist that had a rocketing velocity. He stumbled backward, managing to jump and somersault away as Carolina tried to land another blow. He used his new angle to throw a punch at her abdomen while she was still turned, but frustratingly, her reaction time was just too good. She caught his forearm and whipped him across the floor, slamming him into the wall.

Sharkface got up groggily. “Getting tired?” Carolina taunted as she stood before him in a readied pose. Sharkface shook his head and lowered into his stance. Carolina wasted no time in coming right back at him, twisting and whirling around him with grace, battering him with hits and dodging his returning attempts nimbly. This continued on for a minute, and, to his credit, he did manage to hit her a few times. Carolina would give him that, but she would not allow him to win.

She kicked him in the shins, forcing a small groan from him as he stumbled. Carolina quickly stepped behind him and wrapped her arms around his abdomen, only giving him time to utter a surprised “Wha- oof!” as he was suplexed to the floor. Sharkface didn’t get back up as Carolina stood over him, letting the satisfaction of beating a worthy opponent fill her for the moment.

“Think... ya beat the life outta me...” Sharkface panted as he sat up, holding his back with one hand. “Are you injured?” Carolina asked. “Fine,” Sharkface answered curtly, standing. “Okay, meet me at the mess hall in fifteen,” Carolina told him before strolling out of the room. He waited for a minute to catch his breath, then followed suit.

——————F.A.C. Outpost 37——————

Washington opened his eyes to harsh fluorescent light in a white emergency room. As he gazed around the room, sitting up, he noticed that everything was ringed with cobalt light, the edges of his peripheral blurrier. It was hard to tell where one object ended and another started. His head was throbbing, a bad headache not aiding his confusion at his current situation.

_He didn’t even know what questions to ask._

_Wha-_

_Where?_

_Was this a ‘where’ kind of deal?_

“Not really! It’s more of a ‘who’ kind of deal,” an upbeat voice responded from behind him. The suddenness of it made him jump, and he spun around on the bed to face a woman in white armor with a tall, narrow visor, standard for the soldiers of the Federal Army. But her visor was also purple, which was new to him. He hadn’t realized that he had been thinking out loud. He rubbed his eyes, his vision normalizing a bit more. The cobalt hue and outline was still applied to everything in his field of view.

He stared haplessly at the woman, who he assumed to be the doctor. She seemed to remember something and snap out of her small daydream. “Oh! How rude of me. My name is Emily Grey! Call me Dr. Grey, even though I think the whole title business is a little silly to be replacing the first-name basis, you know?” Washington nodded at that, but was still very confused. “Why am I in a hospital?” he questioned, a glint of suspicion in his eyes as he focused a hardened stare on the doctor.

She simply let out a small giggle and left the room, sliding a paper stapled to a bag with a pill in it onto the countertop next to the hospital bed. He got up to read the paper;

𝚄𝙽𝚂𝙲 𝙾𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚖:

𝙰𝚍𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚏 [𝚁𝙴𝙳𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳] 𝚝𝚘 𝙰𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚆𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚘𝚗 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝-𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚢. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛 (𝟺) 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝’𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚑𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

𝚂𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚎𝚍,

𝚄𝙽𝚂𝙲 𝙾𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚂𝚞𝚋𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚎 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗,

𝙼𝚊𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚖 𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚎

Washington sighed and grabbed the glass of water that had been set out for him, quickly taking out the pill and downing it in a gulp of water. He sat back down on the edge of the mattress, waiting for his vision to stop blaring with cobalt light.

——————New Republic HQ——————

As they ate, Carolina couldn’t help but to notice how Sharkface avoided her gaze for the entire meal, seemingly always finding something else to turn his scathing gaze on. And she was thankful for that, make no mistake. But how were they supposed to work as a team if they didn’t see eye to eye? It’s not that she particularly wanted to know this man. They just needed to establish a more professional relationship than him resentfully following her every command.

“Hey, Sharkface. Later tonight, meet me in the cavern across from the barracks and up the incline,” she said once they had finished. This earned her a glare of narrowed eyes from the imposing man sitting across from her. “That’s an order,” she added, and he reluctantly nodded with a slight growl before getting up and walking away at a brisk pace. Carolina went back to her quarters to prepare.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - [two hours later] - - - - - - - - - - - -

Carolina sat in the open cavern dressed casually in an aqua tank top and leggings, the room dimly lit by white light from the three-quarters full moon above, which was shining through the opening in the roof of the cave. A few alcoholic beverages at her feet, a few unresolved thoughts bouncing around in her head, and exhaustion from a long day chaining her body firmly in place.

She was startled when she felt someone sit beside her on the jungle log, and her gaze flicked quickly to her side. Sharkface, muscular frame dressed in a gray tee and red shorts, shark tooth necklace loose around the base of his neck. “Hey,” he muttered nonchalantly as he noticed her look. An obvious hostility to him that seemed to simmer just under the surface, but she noticed.

“Do you hate me?”

“...”

Sharkface was silent, a look of repressed anguish and regret written evidently across his features. “It’s hard not to.” he replied, his tone honest and tired, filled with a dull pain. Carolina understood why better than anyone. God, she had been so stupid and reckless. She was the reason why, and for the first time since York, she felt genuine regret.

“I’m really sorry, Sharkface.”

“Sure you are, boss.”

“...”

Carolina clenched her fists. “Why do you just deflect whatever I say to you?” she asked, annoyed. Sharkface stood up in front of her, his expression one of rage. “It’s because you don’t mean any of that shit! You’re fucking fake, and you know that, but you insist on putting the act up. I hate fake people, always have. You’re no exception to the rule, Agent Carolina!” he yelled.

_Agent Carolina._

That’s still how he saw her, after all this time. An agent. And in a way, she still was. Trying to be the best, ordering others around mercilessly, rejecting anything less than perfection. It all made sense.

“Listen... I- I’m-“ she couldn’t finish her sentence. The Twins, Wash, C.T., Maine, and most of all York. It had all been her fault, every bit as much as it had been the Director’s. Her throat felt choked up. “You’re what? Sorry for me? Like the physical therapists were?” he asked mockingly. “I’m not sorry,” she responded to him. He raised a brow in surprise, which quickly changed to questioning anger.

“I’m not sorry... because I was manipulated into doing what I did. And I might have been sorry before, but now I’m going to kill the man who made me do all those things, the man that waged war on your friends and sent me to do his bidding. And I’m giving you the chance to avenge your friends as I avenge mine, by killing the Director.”

She turned to face away from the scarred man, but could feel as his seething, simmering anger died off and was replaced by, if nothing else, complete understanding of her perspective. “You’re lucky you’re so persuasive...” Sharkface muttered lowly, cracking his knuckles. She turned to face him. “Is that so?” she questioned with a smirk, stretching to flex her own muscles. He simply shook his head at that with a small smirk and stood to walk off. He stepped past her.

“Thank you so much.”

She turned around, but he was already gone. Carolina put out the fire and headed back to the camp afterward, picking up and disposing of the many bottles strewn about. She didn’t know why, but she felt... good about talking to Sharkface. She guessed it was just her instincts as a leader playing their part in the situation.

Carolina walked back down from the raised cavern, her boots scuffing the dirt and sending pebbles skittering down the slope. She walked past the dark barracks and came to the dock, where water pooled and glowed green from radioactive algae. A place toxic, yet tranquil in a sense. A man, gray tee and red shorts, sat on the edge of the dock, looking as if he was deep in contemplation.

Carolina knew who it was; the man who a week earlier would have ripped anyone to shreds without a second thought, but now had time to consider what she said. She fought the urge to smile as she walked back to her room, brushing her teeth and showering before laying in her bed.

_Maybe he was changing after all._


	6. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reds and Blues cross paths with destiny as they endeavor to find Epsilon.

———In a spacecraft, en route to Chorus———

Tucker scrolled through his data pad lazily, eventually turning it off. He sunk further into his teal hoodie as he played with the strings absently. He usually slept right through flights, but he couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in his stomach. (Grif’s offering of food hadn’t worked in the slightest.) He was usually cool with traveling like this, but this was obviously a time when he wasn’t as comfortable as usual.

At least Caboose seemed to be taking all this well. He was passed out clutching his tank plush, “Sheila”, his regulation blue tee put on backwards, as no one could really be bothered to tell him that it wasn’t the correct way to wear a shirt. His brown, curly hair was mussed and pushed up against the headrest, covering part of his forehead.

The possibility that Simmons’ lead had been wrong was a very real one, one that the maroon soldier had readily admitted, and something that Tucker was stressing over. Yet Caboose slept peacefully, content with the knowledge that they were attempting to find Church, not even considering the chance that he was gone for good.

_Tucker told himself to stop thinking like that. Church would be back. He always came back._

_Church had to still be out there, because if he wasn’t..._

_He didn’t know what he’d do._

Tucker shook himself from his thoughts and looked behind him a few rows, where Sarge had claimed the window seat, and Simmons had taken the aisle seat, leaving Grif in the middle. He had eventually stopped being so grumpy about not getting the window seat and had fallen asleep. He was a natural. Simmons was playing games on his data pad, while Sarge seemed to be listening to something, most likely a podcast, as the older man broke into a smile every so often.

In the row behind those three, Lopez was sitting with Donut and Doc. Lopez was sitting in the window seat, with Doc taking the middle seat between him and Donut, understandably. Lopez, like himself, could only take so much enthusiasm and so many innuendos before deciding he needed a break.

Suddenly, the craft shook, the lights flickering, panels sparking. “What the hell...” Tucker muttered, looking around the craft. Similar expressions of confusion or worry were on the faces of the rest of the passengers. A voice came over the intercom: “Everyone, do not panic. We are simply experiencing some turbulence.” Tucker nodded and accepted that explanation, preparing to ride it out.

He heard an exchange from behind him between two of the Reds. “Get a hold of yourself, man!” Sarge exclaimed to Simmons, “What is there to be afraid of?” “Turbulence wouldn’t damage the aircraft as much as I just witnessed,” he replied, his voice shaky. “Oh, well, that’s just ridiculous,” Sarge muttered, and continued to gaze out the window.

The ship rocked hard to one side, some paneling flying off and sparks flying, most of the lights shorting out. The same voice came on over the intercom, much more panicked-sounding: “Okay, nevermind! All passengers, I ask you to please brace for impact!” The speakers fell silent, and a cacophony of shouts and cries could be heard. Tucker looked out at the fast-approaching surface of a planet, and braced himself, squeezing his eyes shut as the ship made its impact.

\- - - - - - - - - - - [a few hours later] - - - - - - - - - - -

——————F.A.C. Outpost 37——————

Tucker woke up in an unfamiliar setting. White walls of a medical bay surrounded his bed. He sat up, pushing the sheets off of him. A doctor in unnatural, white polygonal armor with a vertical purple visor sat in a chair across the room from him. “Hello, I’m Doctor Grey!” she greeted him, looking up from her work.

He groaned, sliding off the bed and standing, feeling a dull pain in his legs. “What... what happened?” he asked a little groggily. She giggled a little. “Oh, it wasn’t good. A huge crash when your ship was shot down by the New Republic, I presume. Our soldiers had to fight off some odd bandits in gray armor, but we managed to get all-uh... well, most of you back to this Federal outpost safely,” Grey recalled.

Tucker’s gaze narrowed at her. “What do you mean ‘most of us’?” he questioned. “Well, your friend in purple, DuFresne, wasn’t found in the wreckage. The gray soldiers did get there first, though, so he could really be anywhere,” she responded, her tone ever-cheerful. Tucker groaned. “Great. Probably another rescue mission,” he lamented, grimacing.

“The general wants to speak with you as soon as possible. He’ll be waiting for you in the war room!” Grey quickly told Tucker before leaving the room, the door swinging closed and clicking shut behind her. “Wow, and I thought I was fast,” he muttered, still not fully awake. He smirked slightly after realizing what he had just said. “Bow-chicka-bow-wow.”

——————New Republic HQ——————

Carolina was startled awake by a loud knock at the door. “Hey, it’s your favorite mercenary! Just dropping by to tell you to get ready, because we’ve got a mission on short notice here. Don’t be late, or else!” Felix’s voice shouted from the other side of the door, before his footsteps sounded as he walked away. She rolled her eyes. If she had to work with the likes of Felix, this mission would be a bit more annoying.

It wasn’t that the mercenary couldn’t fight, because, well, he was about as good as she was. She had to admit that after having watched a few of his sparring matches with some rebel soldiers. It was just that all of this seemed to go to his head, making him way too cocky for her liking. She shook her head, clenching her fists and beginning to ready up.

\- - - - - - - - - - [twenty minutes later] - - - - - - - - - -

Carolina sighed as she sat down beside Sharkface, who was wearing an expression of irritation similar to her own. His gaze softened a little as he turned his head to look over at her, giving a nod of acknowledgement before turning his gaze to the head of the table. She followed suit, and was unsurprised to see Kimball, Felix close at her side. The Counselor sat in the corner, a notepad and pen in his hands, observing everyone at the table.

“Good morning to you both! Glad to see you got some rest. Carolina especially, looking good as ever,” he said with a wink in her direction, in response to which she fixed him with a death-glare, her fists clenching. Sharkface glanced over at her, but seeing how she was seething, he decided to just focus his attention toward the front of the room.

Kimball stepped forward. “I’m sending the three of you, along with a supporting squad of twenty soldiers, on a mission to take out a set of Federal checkpoints on a major highway that leads to the capital. We’ll have a much easier time with the later stages of our campaign when we’ve secured that road,” she explained. Sharkface nodded in acknowledgement, while Carolina leaned forward in interest.

And the Director’s in Armonia?” Carolina asked, her brow raised. Felix shrugged. “I don’t know what Doyle’s got planned, but from the intel I’ve gathered so far, seems like it,” he responded nonchalantly. His tone and non-committal answer agitated Carolina a bit, but she kept her mouth shut. Kimball spoke up; “We’ll deal with him when we get to that point. For now, focus on the mission. The three of you are dismissed.”

Carolina and Sharkface stood up, glancing back over their shoulders at Felix as they walked away and sharing a look of annoyance between them for the orange mercenary. Kimball and the Counselor didn’t notice this, as they were engrossed in a new conversation of their own, but Felix saw it. Smirking smugly, he flipped them off as they walked away. Sharkface grumbled at this, and Carolina just sighed.

——————F.A.C. Outpost 37——————

Tucker walked into the war room to see Sarge, Simmons, Grif, Caboose, Donut, and Lopez standing in a circle with a soldier in black and green armor, as well as another soldier in Federal armor with accents and a visor that were both golden. Grif turned around to stare at him pointedly. “Dude, what took you? We’ve been standing here for a while, and now we still have to do this stupid meeting,” he lamented. Tucker didn’t respond and walked over closer to the two unfamiliar soldiers.

“General Donald Doyle at your service,” the white-and-gold-armored man introduced himself, reaching his hand out for a prim and proper handshake. Tucker dabbed him up instead, and Doyle stared at him in confusion for a few seconds before returning to his train of thought. “Oh- alright. I have gathered you all here because the Federal Army is in desperate need of new soldiers. You, the “Reds and Blues”, as I’m told, seem to be quite able to hold your own on the battlefield.”

Grif raised his hand before interjecting. “Okay, first of all, what the fuck is the Federal Army, why the fuck are they fighting a war, and who are they fighting against?” he asked in agitated confusion. Doyle sighed. “You are currently under the protection of the Federal Army of Chorus, the planet you’ve crashed on. I am the army’s general, leading it in a civil war against the rebel faction, the New Republic.” he explained clearly. Everyone nodded, understanding this explanation.

Simmons raised a brow. “So, what are you saying?” he questioned, referring to what Doyle had previously been talking about. “I am inviting you to join the ranks of the Federal Army, for if you don’t, it is very likely you will be killed in the crossfire or taken captive by the savage rebels. They don’t have the slightest sense of morality, I can assure you,” the general responded.

Tucker groaned. “That’s fine and all, but I want to know where Church is!” The black-and-green-armored soldier finally spoke up at that, looking over at him. “If you are referring to the Epsilon A.I. unit, then I believe it is being held by the New Republic. Your best bet to get it back would likely be to side with us,” he told Tucker, who gazed at the man warily. “And who the hell are you?” he asked a bit defensively. “Locus, mercenary of the Federal Army of Chorus,” he introduced himself.

Tucker pulled his gaze away from the unsettling, yet informative mercenary standing near him and set it on Doyle once more. “If it’s for Church... I think you can count us in,” he said, glancing around the group to see nods of approval come from everyone except Donut, who had his arms crossed. “Did you all seriously just forget that Doc was captured?!?” he asked incredulously. Nobody spoke up, except for Sarge. “Boy, what the hell are you askin’ about that for? That purple wuss wasn’t doin’ us any favors anyway,” he responded callously.

Donut gasped and looked around at the group. “C’mon guys, we’re gonna rescue him, right?” he asked pleadingly. Tucker shrugged. “Honestly, I couldn’t give a shit. I’m not,” he answered, leaving most of the rest of them to make their own statements of non-commitment to finding Doc. Donut stepped back from them all in shock. “Well, if I’m the only one who’s a real friend to Doc, then I guess you all aren’t really my friends either.” he declared before storming out of the room, the doors sliding shut behind him.

“Idiotas,” Lopez muttered mechanically as heran off after Donut. The rest of them stared at each other with blank expressions, and Locus abruptly left the room in the awkward moment. Doyle cleared his throat. “Ahem... you are all dismissed,” he finished quietly before also leaving. The Reds and Blues stayed there, though, in a seemingly unbreakable silence. Tucker placed a hand to his forehead as his gaze fell to the floor.

_What had they done?_


	7. VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carolina and Sharkface confront Felix and Locus, with the former freelancer of the group recieving an unfriendly reunion with an old friend.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - [ten hours later] - - - - - - - - - - - -

———————F.A.C. Outpost 37——————

Washington roamed around the premises of the outpost, not fully able to concentrate on anything. The pounding in his head had by now dulled to a constant static buzz, but with the headaches left his emotions. He was finding it hard to feel anything, and maybe that was because Epsilon was already doing enough of that, screaming non-stop in his head. At this point, it was much easier to just tune everything out in favor of physical exertion.

Everything in his vision still had a cobalt sheen to it, and he understood that was because of Epsilon. The cobalt A.I., the memories of Alpha, another artificial intelligence program based on the Director, had become somewhat stable since their last encounter. But Epsilon having itself thrown back into Washington’s mind, a place heavily associated with previous pain, made the program unravel into insanity very quickly.

Washington hadn’t told any higher-ups or doctors about the growing numbness and mental turmoil that laid under the surface. He was sure that the Chairman hadn’t made any decisions without his well-being in mind. The last thing he needed was his boss thinking he wasn’t tough enough for the job. Felix’s words echoed through his head. No, he wouldn’t let anything get to him, not even Epsilon.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he bumped into Locus, sending them both stumbling backward. They both regained their balance, Locus seeming to shoot Washington an annoyed glare from underneath his helmet. Yet his tone was as professional as ever when he spoke to the former freelancer. “Washington, I’ve been searching for you. We’re being sent by the general to lead a patrol of Federal soldiers, as well as the simulation troopers, on patrol of a main road; Smith Thoroughfare,” the stoic mercenary informed him.

He just nodded at Locus’s words, understandingwhat he was saying, but not feeling any emotions associated with it. It was just another order to Agent Washington, and just another line of code to Epsilon. Clockwork inside his head, the screaming drowned out by constant activity that was neither conscious, nor unconscious. He followed Locus to the motor pool, where they each mounted a Mongoose, the Feds with them riding in Warthogs, forming a motorcade around the two mercenaries as they drove toward their destination.

-In a warthog, en route to Smith Thoroughfare-

Carolina drummed her fingers idly on the dash as she sat forward in her seat. Felix was driving in the seat next to her, and thankfully, had been quiet so far in the drive. Sharkface was sitting quietly in the backseat, probably brooding, she decided. He seemed to have a habit of doing that. A few warthogs full of rebels trailed theirs, as they had been for the past hour. Troop movements could be tedious when anything flying would be shot down faster than Felix’s attempts at flirting with her.

She groaned inwardly and grimaced at the amount of time it was taking to get there. Felix must’ve looked over and seen her expression, because he mischievously cast her a side-glance. “Carolina, what’s the problem? The car isn’t working out too well for you?” he asked snarkily. Carolinaturned to glare at him. “I’m just restless from sitting for this long, nothing more,” she shot back. He smirked. “Oh, I just thought you might have some Washington in you.”

She angrily threw a punch into the adjacent seat, which Felix expertly dodged. “Ah, ah, ah! No distracting the driver!” he chastised her in a mocking tone. She openly snarled at him, her gaze of icy daggers burning into him, but he seemed perfectly content to keep driving and forget about what he’d just said. It had been a clear jab at the fact that, according to UNSC records, Washington had been killed by being thrown off a cliff while tied to a car, alongside the Meta. Carolina still silently mourned the fact that she would never see him or any of her other former teammates again.

But the person who would ultimately pay for Washington’s death was the Director. And in order to reach him, she’d have to work with Felix to take down the Feds. She leaned into the side of the vehicle, sighing in resignation as she watched the rolling hills pass by in the distance. The orange sun of Chorus set behind a distant mountain range, the sky fading from a light pink-orange to a soft purple and the stars beginning to show on the darkening canvas of the frontier planet’s sky.

\- - - - - - - - - - - [two hours later] - - - - - - - - - - - - -

——————Smith Thoroughfare——————

The warthog slowed to a stop on a desolate stretch of asphalt, the four-lane thoroughfare stretching in front of them about a hundred feet before running through a line of what had once been toll-booths. Since the war had begun, they had been repurposed as security checkpoints, the steel barriers across the lanes reinforced with makeshift welding and wrapped with barbed wire. The sky overhead was black and twinkling with Chorusian stars, streetlights providing sparse lighting along the roadsides on an otherwise caliginous plateau.

Carolina exited the jeep, shutting the door and stretching as she stood at last. Felix followed suit, seeming to be all business now that they had arrived. The orange-accented mercenary scanned the surrounding area, holding binoculars with night vision capabilities up to his visor. He lowered it and shook his head, indicating he hadn’t seen any Feds. He called over to a squad of rebel soldiers, “You all go and sweep the barricade buildingsbefore we continue!”

As the rebel soldiers advanced on the barrier, Sharkface climbed out of the vehicle last, his gray visor holding stormclouds very much like the ones Carolina imagined hung constantly in his mind. He carried his loaded assault rifle in his hands as he walked over to stand beside her. She acknowledged him with a curt nod, which he returned. They watched as the troops advanced, their measured march a product of Kimball’s regimented training.

**_BOOM_ **

Carolina stumbled backward as her vision went white and her ears rang, looking back up to see a blurry outline of the smoldering ruins of the line of checkpoints, and bloodied, shrapnel-pierced bodies strewn across the ground as the flames began to burn brighter. The roar of engines from behind caused her to turn around, upon which she was greeted by the sight of a caravan of military jeeps parking in front of them. She felt a pair of arms shove her onto the ground behind their own jeep before deafening gunfire erupted.

Dazed, she stood halfway up and regained her bearings, taking stock of her surroundings. Sharkface must’ve pushed her to cover, because he was crouching beside her as bullets whizzed overhead. “It’s the Feds!” he shouted over the gunfire, before shifting as a bullet pierced the military vehicle and flew past his head. “And this isn’t cover anymore!” Carolina added as she frantically glanced around, finding a line of sandbags and deciding that was good enough.

She ran the twenty feet between the two spots, and although gunfire was plentiful, she reached the other side unscathed. Carolina motioned to Sharkface, who was still crouching behind the jeep that was quickly being shredded by bullets, to follow her. He waited for a second before sprinting out of cover, and as she watched him, she subconsciously realized too late that the gunners would now be watching the open stretch. He was hit in the leg and stomach, stumbling to fall behind the sandbag barricade next to her.

“Argh, damnit!” he cursed as he clutched his abdomen in pain, that bullet wound seemingly being the much more severe of the two. Carolina peeked out from above the barrier, seeing white troops in jeeps. The rebel soldiers that were left were bravely fighting back behind whatever cover was strewn about, although it was clear that this battle had begun in the Feds’ favor. But suddenly, she watched as Felix daringly jumped on top of a warthog, slashing at and killing the gunner before firing his pistol at some Federal infantry and scrambling to the next vehicle.

As the suppressive fire from the mounted machine guns died down due to chaos in their ranks, Carolina felt an odd sort of gratitude toward the loud-mouthed mercenary. But she immediately banished that train of thought from her mind as she focused on the fact that Sharkface was trying to stand up again. She quickly caught hold of his forearm and roughly pulled him back to the ground. “Not on my watch,” she stated with finality before he could protest.

Carolina jumped over the barrier and somersaulted to one about ten feet in front of it. A few Feds looked to her as she popped up from behind the cover with her dual pistols drawn. She gunned most of them down before they could react, and moved again to avoid the returning fire, running over to take them out at close range. A red-striped gunman dropped his heavy machine gun and rushed toward her, a large, muscular adversary suddenly about to make his impact. Carolina tripped the soldier with a strong kick to his armored shin after sidestepping the charge, the sound of which rang out.

The gunner hit the dirt with a groan, and wasthen held there by her foot between his shoulder blades. “You can surrender,” Carolina hissed, “or find out what caliber this pistol is,” she finished as she pressed the barrel to his head. “P-please don’t hurt me, miss! You already won!” he begged. Carolina thought he was referring to this particular one-on-one encounter, but as she looked up and across the smoldering rubble that covered the highway, she could see no more adversaries. Still, she was cautious. Where were Sharkface and Felix?

A New Republic soldier ran over to her, looking down to see her standing atop a helpless Fed.He looked back up at her and saluted. “Agent Carolina! What can I do for you?” he inquired. She stepped off of the soldier, letting him breathe once again. “Just keep the Fed here,” she responded before sprinting off into the warzone. It didn’t take long until she could hear the clangs and grunts of a fight still happening. Rounding the wreckage of a warthog, she saw Sharkface fighting with someone in black, green-accented armor.

She watched the unknown adversary drive Sharkface back into a crushed jeep with a barrage of impactful punches. Carolina quickly grabbed the enemy from behind and threw him backward, making him stumble away from them. As Sharkface stepped toward the enemy again, Felix flew past her, leading her gaze to follow him as he knocked the opponent over from the side, sending him tumbling across the pavement. He turned to Sharkface, shouting, “You should go help Carolina with the other mercenary! I’ve got Locus covered!”

So his name was Locus, and he was a mercenary, Carolina noted. But what did Felix mean when he said that Sharkface should help her? It wasn’t like she—

A hail of bullets hit the asphalt in front of her, chipping chunks of the gray stone up at her and forcing her to make a split-second reaction. She jumped to the side, twirling into a somersault to get behind cover, a section of sheet metal that was laying parallel to the roadway. Crouching behind it, she peeked over to see someone new, probably the merc Felix had been talking about, shooting at where Sharkface had taken cover. Their armor was gray with yellow accents, a standard Mjolnir set. She felt a pang in her chest.

_Just like Wash used to wear._

Carolina shook the thought from her head, the gunfire drawing her back into the present. She drew her dual pistols from their holsters on her hips and stood, firing at the gray-and-yellow mercenary. They were hit by one bullet before letting out a grunt of pain and quickly dodging the rest. She sprinted to another scrap of cover, hoping to draw the adversary toward her so Sharkface could attack his flank. That was what happened, as she heard from behind the pile of rubble, but judging by Sharkface’s pained groan, it hadn’t gone too well.

“Sharkface!” she called out, vaulting the pile of rubble and rolling down it into a dash toward the enemy who had hurt him. She saw an injured Sharkface laying on the ground and made a beeline for him, not paying any heed to the idea that it could have been a setup. One moment she was on her feet, the next her back was pressed to the asphalt. She made a move to get up, but was stopped by the unknown mercenary pouncing atop her. She brought the one pistol she hadn’t dropped upon impacting the ground up, whipping them in the visor.

The visor shattered against the silver barrel of the magnum, golden shards falling on her armored body and the surrounding asphalt. Time seemed to stop for a moment as a face she had known she wouldn’t ever see again stared back at her. His eyes glowed an electric neon blue, but the features of his face were enough to recognize him by. But... how? What had happened to him and his eyes? Why was he on Chorus, and why was he attacking his former teammate?

“Wash?” was all she managed to choke out as she stared into the soulless abyss of his static blue gaze. She laid, pinned by him, seemingly paralyzed by shock and fear as he brought a knife to her throat, the cold metal sending a chill through her jugular. Suddenly, Sharkface rammed into him with a pained grunt, throwing him off of her. The knife’s blade grazed her neck, which was registered as a sharp prick of pain before she stood shakily.

“What the hell was that?” Sharkface demanded angrily, the wounded man having a throwing knife embedded into his chestpiece and a bloodied left leg with several bullet holes. He then turned and saw Washington getting back up, giving Carolina a bit of a shove toward a surprisingly still-operable warthog with a New Republic soldier in the driver’s seat. That seemed to snap her out of the trance, as she ran for the vehicle and swung herself into the passenger side.

She brought a gloved hand up to cover the oozing slash on her neck as Sharkface climbed up into the back and manned the mounted machine gun. He provided suppressing fire toward the general area in which Washington was taking cover as the jeep sped down Smith Thoroughfare, away from the site of the bloody battle. As miles of asphalt passed under the tires, all Carolina could think about was the cold, unfeeling, inhuman gaze he fixed her with as he was about to kill her.

_This wasn’t the Washington she knew._


	8. VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The New Republic learns of the mercenaries’ plot, while Donut and Lopez find themselves behind Federal Army lines in search of Doc.

\- - - - - - [hours before sunrise, that night] - - - - - -

——————New Republic HQ——————

Felix quietly stalked around the corners of the steel buildings that comprised the perimeter of the open area of rocky ground in front of a back gate. It was mostly used for supply imports, and it was pretty far out of the way of any entrances to the cave system, with no surveillance being posted there during the nights. The perfect place for him to slip out unnoticed, he thought smugly as he crept toward the exit.

“Felix! What might you be doing at this hour?” a voice came from behind him. Startled, he spun around quickly to see the Counselor, or so Kimball had called him. He was leaning against the side of a nearby building and looking directly at him, giving an expression that spoke only to curiosity. He hadn’t expected to get caught, damn it! This made things trickier for him.

“Oh, hey,” he said simply, feeling the sudden urge to either bolt for the gate or pull a pistol and shoot this man. But neither of those plans would keep this secret, so he’d have to talk his way out. In that case, it was a good thing he was a smooth talker, he thought pridefully with a cocky smirk under his visor. “I was just... you know, about to go out and test some weapons. I couldn’t get to sleep, so I figured I could at least make myself useful,” he lied.

“Oh, in that case, be careful!” the Counselor replied with an amicable smile. “Don’t worry, I will!” Felix replied just as cheerily, walking out of the base with a shit-eating grin plastered onto his face. The chump had totally bought his spiel, bless his own silver tongue. He jogged up a rocky slope that led to a spot on the surface, emerging in the midst of the dense rainforest canopy. He quickly eyed his surroundings and was able to surmise that he’d gone to the correct meeting location.

Sure enough, a black-and-green armored figure climbed out of the flora to stand in front of him. “Felix,” he greeted simply. “Locus,” Felix returned. They stood then, staring at each other for a minute.Slivers of moonlight poked through the branches and leaves overhead, casting a shimmer over his partner’s broad, evergreen-striped helmet. The shape of an X was there, as it had been for such a long time.

“Locus, you always do this.”

“What am I doing?”

“Staring at me!”

“Well, you did first.”

“Hmph.”

Felix felt a blush rising in his cheeks, but quickly pushed away such feelings as he tried to cover his embarrassment. “Um... how are things going at the Fed outpost?” he quickly asked. The taller, shadowy mercenary opposite of him didn’t stir even one bit, fixing him with what outwardly seemed to be a blank stare. But Felix knew that underneath the helmet of the armor for which the man had named himself, hazel eyes looked slightly upward in thought above his mouth, which pulled into a taut line.

As intelligent as he was strong and capable physically... he had to suppress a sigh. There was a reason he knew what Sam’s eyes and mouth looked like, and that was because he often stared at them. He hadn’t initially known why he was drawn to such a man, but the reasons for his attraction were quite simple. Their similarity in combat skill level and simultaneous difference in personality. He’d grown to trust Locus more than anyone since Siris, all those years ago, so he guessed his crush might be-

“Satisfactorily. No one suspects anything of our cooperation to exterminate both sides. The Feds’ attack on the New Republic’s headquarters here in a day will leave no survivors. Doyle still entrusts me with the most confidential of information. I assume you are on similar terms with Kimball?” Locus reported and asked, breaking Felix’s train of thought. “Oh! Yeah, yeah, we’re just chummy,” Felix replied nonchalantly, playing off his fluster. Locus nodded, arms crossed over his chest. Felix kicked at a few pebbles, his gaze fixed on the ground. “When can we be together again?” he finally asked quietly.

Before Locus could reply, a rustling in the undergrowth caused both of them to swivel their heads toward the noise. They’d been eavesdropped on. “Get them!” Locus yelled as he sprinted into the flora in that direction, Felix following close behind. The foliage blurred into streaks of dark green as he tailed them, chasing until suddenly he heard a thunderous crack and a groan. He stopped in his tracks and looked up ahead at Locus, who had been struck by a giant tree branch, and was now being pinned to the ground by it.

He immediately rushed to his partner’s side, using all of his strength, as well as all of Locus’ strength, to lift the large branch up and off, letting it hit the dirt next to them with a thud. Felix took his helmet off, letting the concern on his face show as he knelt beside Locus. The other mercenary also took off his helmet, which was newly scratched up from the impact, and fixed him with a pained, yet steely look. “Call control.”

\- - - - - - - - - - - [half an hour later] - - - - - - - - - - -

Carolina stood at attention in the war room, a slightly more disheveled-looking Sharkface, only in his gray plaid pajama pants and a red tee, staggering over to stand beside her, cursing under his breath. She was currently dressed in a teal tank top and leggings, her workout clothes, feeling quite awake. Needless to say, she had a pretty bad problem with night terrors, and found exercising until she’d exhausted herself past the point of idle dreams preferable. She would have teased Sharkface about his current state, but Kimball’s stressed pacing at the front of the room set her on edge.

She was muttering angrily under her breath, her long black hair untidily mussed, her chocolate gaze narrowed into daggers staring into the ground. She paced a few more times back and forth before noticing the two of them standing there, to which she straightened her posture and faced Carolina and Sharkface. The Counselor stood behind her, with a solemn look that matched hers. Carolina guessed that this news she was about to break to them wouldn’t be pretty.

“Felix was leading us along this whole time. He and one of the mercenaries for the Federal Army, Locus, have been manipulating the two armies to continue this civil war. He already fled... I’m sorry,” she said quietly, averting her gaze to the floor. Sharkface had a shocked, enraged expression on his face, while Carolina stiffened, muttering a “Damnit,” through clenched teeth. That certainly explained his perceived passive-aggressiveness toward all of them.

“Ma’am,” Sharkface growled, “what does this mean for the continuation of the war?” Kimball sighed. “Honestly, not much. They’ve still got a radio jammer somewhere nearby, meaning we can’t contact the Feds at all, so Locus can still manipulate them into attacking us. We won’t attack them, but given how close to here Price found the mercenaries, it’s not much of a stretch to believe they’ll attack our headquarters,” she replied despondently, standing silently afterward. The Counselor nodded in concurrence with that assessment.

Carolina looked on with pity. “Can we... are we dismissed?” she asked. Kimball nodded silently... were those tears brimming her eyes? The Counseor gently placed a hand on her shoulder, and she seemed to relax, turning to him as he whispered something to her. She decided she didn’t want to know as she turned and followed an irate Sharkface out of the war room. She supposed that they’d better prepare for an onslaught, or they’d be waiting for a massacre.

\- - - - - - - - - - - [a few hours later] - - - - - - - - - - -

——————F.A.C. Outpost 37——————

As the sun began to rise over the eastern mountaintops, a convoy of scorpion tanks rolled through the gates of the outpost. A heavy blizzard whipped the swirling summit winds around inside the compound’s courtyards, the flurried gusts slowing movements of troops in the elevated area. With visibility on the cliffside rock plateau nearing zero when a particularly bad stretch of thunderpsnow hit, no one was the wiser as a pink-armored sim trooper and a brown-armored humanoid robotcut a hole in the fence to sneak through, advancing toward their objective.

As the two of them stood on the other side, Donut pumped his fists into the air in celebration. “What a meaty defense! But we sure penetrated ’em good, didn’t we, Lopez? In a storm of white, no less!“ he exclaimed happily. The robot crossed his arms and shook his head. “Lo juro por Dios, si no dejas de decir insinuaciones, cortocircuitaré,“ Lopez responded in a tone of exasperation. Donutknew what Lopez had said... at least he thought he did. “Exactly! They didn’t expect us to come inside this suddenly!” He was met with only a mechanical groan.

He followed Lopez, who he assumed was in turn following his sensors through the blizzard, to an unassuming warehouse. They stumbled into the vast structure from the strong snow and winds, and he fell to his knees from how hard he had been trudging through the elements. Lopez helped him up, and he looked around from the giant piles of supplies up to the shadowy rafters, thankfully seeing no enemies. Donut followed the robot down a concrete staircase to the more well-lit basement, continuing to walk down the hall before being suddenly jerked back behind a corner.

“Silencio,” Lopez commanded him, the robot soldier moving ahead and drawing his pistol. He crossed a hallway quickly, looking down its empty length before beckoning for Donut to follow him. Donut continued on down the bleak gray passage, the distant sounds of patrolling officers echoing. He crept forward along a gray cement wall, his light-footed approach perilous as the soldiers just around the corner were engrossed in conversation, he noticed with a quick peek out into the open before withdrawing. They seemed to be guarding a cell, exactly where Lopez had said it would be.

“Okay, Double O’ Donut, focus!” he whispered to himself, Lopez standing next to him, scanning up ahead for enemies. He pulled a grenade from his hip, plucked the pin, and tossed it, wincing at the loud explosion and yells cut short. Donut tentatively stepped over the dismembered bodies and scarlet puddles, making his way to the cell. It was shrouded in darkness, the back of the cell not visible. Lopez came to stand beside him and gazed into the darkness, his visor glinting. “Hola?” he called out.

Suddenly, a man with bleached blonde hair, a freckled face, and brown eyes, dressed in plainnavy-and-white striped prison garb, flew toward them from the shadows, clutching the bars as he pressed against them anxiously. Yet, his face showed an expression of excitement and relief. “Thank gosh you guys got here in time! I thought I was a goner for sure for a few weeks there. But nevermind that, we gotta get out of here!” he exclaimed breathlessly, his chocolate eyes glinting hopefully. “I’m Matthews, by the way.”

Donut was shocked to speechlessness. This strapping young man had been held in this horrid dark cell for weeks? No wonder he was so eager to get out. And seeing as they were supposed to be helping the Rebel cause anyway, he didn’t see any harm to rescuing him on his way to finding Doc. He finally nodded to Lopez, who proceeded to stick his arm out and let a small laser beam shoot from his wristplate, cutting a hole and making pieces of the bars clatter to the concrete floor. Matthews stepped out of the cell, and the three of them turned to go back the way they came.

**_BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM_ **

Donut fell, letting loose a wheezing, pained cry as bullets tore through his stomach. He landed on his side, blood leaking and starting to pool around him as he clutched his abdomen weakly. His vision started to spin and become blurry, the projectiles lodged in his gut feeling like heavy stones. He heard Matthews’ shriek of terror as he stared at Donut, then looked over to the shooter; a soldier in standard gray and yellow Mjolnir armor. Was that...?

His train of thought immediately shifted to Lopez, who stepped toward the attacker. He rolled out of the way of a full clip of shots fired in his direction, jumping at him and snatching his gun away. Lopez tossed the assault rifle back to Matthews, who caught it with shaky hands and began to frantically line up his shot. But the assailant was quick to counter, uppercutting Lopez ‘s visor before pulling his head down and making forceful contact with his knee.

The robot’s golden visor shattered, and although he tried to shield his now-exposed head-circuits with his forearms, it was no real opposition to swift, ruthless prying and stabbing with a long, serrated knife, which before long left Lopez on the ground, immobile. Weak sounds of struggle emanated from his voicebox, but a brutal slashing of the robot’s ’throat’ made the mangled head roll away from the limp body. Neither part was responsive anymore as the murderer stepped over scatterings of wires and shrapnel, advancing toward Matthews, who had the rifle pointed at them.

The poor man was in hysterics, tears running down his face as he brandished the gun at the attacker. “D-don’t come any f-further! STOP!“ he yelled. When they continued their slow, menacing approach, he squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the trigger. The last three shots in ths clip fired, all over the shoulder of the advancing person. They seemed to stop for a minute as they stared at Matthews, who was continuing to squeeze the trigger to only clicks signifying a lack of ammo. In an instant, they charged Matthews, letting out an enraged, animalistic grunt as they stabbed into the soldier’s chest with a knife.

Matthews screamed in agony as blood spurted from his chest, soaking his uniform a dark maroon with blood. He was then thrown to the ground, and was unable to recover before his neck was stomped into the concrete by an armored boot, crushing his windpipe. He feebly clutched at air,squelches emanating from him, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth. He stopped moving after a minute, at which the gray-and-yellow murderer turned and advanced toward him.

Donut’s vision was blurry as he laid there, gazing up at the outline of the figure towering above him. “Washington?” he asked feebly, his throat raw, eyes watering as he tasted blood. The armored figure tilted its head slightly, before shaking it. A knife was drawn, the tip of the blade touching Donut’s visor. In a tone that sounded human, yet was too emotionless to support such an idea, the monster responded; “I am Epsilon.”

_That was the last thing he heard before the knife broke the surface of his visor, screaming pain following him into total darkness._


	9. IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything comes to a head as the mercenaries and rebels square off for their final duel, which leaves bodies on the floor and destruction in its wake.

\- - - - - - - - - - - [three days later] - - - - - - - - - - -

—————Radio Jammer Station 1C—————

Carolina stalked silently along a rock outcropping, the shadow of which shielded her from the midday sun beating down on the coastal cliffside. Kimball tailed closely, the duo making quick work of the half-mile of rocky terrain between where they’d parked the warthog and the radio jammer platform. The titanium steel structure was solidly paneled on top, but a rigging of uncovered metal beams spanned the height of the cliffside all the way down to the churning waters below on the sea-facing side of the facility. Sharkface would use some climbing equipment to move laterally across the cliff face, planting some explosives at key exposed points to bring the complex to a crumbling, watery grave.

Meanwhile, she and Kimball were tasked with initially dealing with whatever personnel were stationed there. Carolina was quite certain that Felix was there, and logic would dictate that his partner, Locus, would be standing guard too. She was also forced to consider that... thing which had almost killed her in the previous firefight. It looked like Washington, armor and face withstanding, but... those inhuman, glowing blue irises of his eyes were a major red flag, and possibly associated with how he was acting. She’d try not to dwell on it too much.

Kimball seemed to be able to put up a good fight, which was helpful, and was also the reason she had come with them, leaving the Counselor in charge of the home defense. While Carolina was still somewhat skeptical of handing control over to the man who’d helped the Director perform his evil crimes in the past, he’d seemed to have a change of heart, recruiting Sharkface, telling her the location of the Director, and revealing the mercenaries’ plot. Kimball seemed to trust him a lot based on their relationship thus far, so she would also put her trust in him for this one time.

“Come on,” Kimball whispered while motioning for Carolina to step up with her onto the platform behind the cover of some piles of crates, startling her out of her thoughts. She quickly nodded and quietly ascended the metal steps, crouching beside Kimball. Carolina peeked over a stack of aluminum boxes to see Locus standing on a balcony that overlooked the platform, his SAW resting across his folded arms. She pulled herself back to the ground before she could be spotted, sighing. “Well, we don’t have visual on Felix, or... Wash,” she trailed off before finishing.

“Well, they should come running once we confront Locus,” Kimball said. Carolina shook her head. “Or, they shoot us because we approach him out in the open... do you know how many places on this platform are possible snipers’ nests?” she questioned, to which the tan-armored leader just shrugged. “We have to be strategic about this. I’ll move over to the left side of the platform; on the ground, behind that cluster of boulders. Then I can chuck a grenade up there, and if he’s smart, he’ll avoid it and start looking for me,” she explained quietly. Kimball tilted her head slightly. “Okay... but where do I come in?” she inquired.

“The snipers’ nests I mentioned? You’ll climb up someplace high in one of those towers. First and foremost, make sure there aren’t any other snipers up high. If there are, shoot them, and I’ll engage Locus before he can shoot you. If not, give me a thumbs-up and I’ll do the grenade ploy so that you can get a clear shot at his back,” Carolina finished. She knew it sounded a bit complex for one merc, but these weren’t any ordinary contract killers. “Got it,” Kimball acknowledged, before starting off toward one of the high perches. Carolina went the opposite direction, staying low to the ground as she made her way behind the rocks. Crouching and steadying her breathing, she unhooked a grenade from her hip, turning it over in her hand.

Carolina again receded into her own thoughts. She sure hoped the rebel leader knew how to effectively scan a battlefield for vantage points, because the success of their mission essentially depended on it. Glancing over her shoulder at Kimball, who was now in the top of a tower, she recieved a comfident thumbs-up. Looking ahead once again, she nodded to herself as she gripped the green explosive. Taking a deep breath, she unhooked the pin and threw.

——————New Republic HQ——————

Tucker sat on a sandbag barrier, his legs hanging, boots swinging just above the rocky dirt. His golden visor shone, his teal armor lit by an overhead lamp, as he was sitting in one of the opposing base’s many surrounding caves. The cave opening was blocked off, New Republic personnel standing guard both ahead and behind the main force. Other forces were already moving on the base, but he and the rest of the Reds and Blues had been ordered to stay there. He had been incredulous at the news when he was told. Church was probably in the base! They should’ve just sent everyone to get him before fighting their way out, he thought as he crossed his arms over his chest.

His gaze trailed over the military forces around him, softening when they landed on a pacing Sarge next to a fretting Grif and Simmons, both sitting on another sandbag barrier. The remaining Reds had agreed to come along, despite the recent disappearances of Donut and Lopez, but he could tell that the uncertainty and worry surrounding it was an unspoken distraction in the minds of everyone there. Personally, he was staying optomistic about it. So, Donut got his feelings hurt, went and took a few days to get his mind right, and Lopez went after him. So what? They’d both turn up eventually.

Especially Church. He had to turn up, it just didn’t make sense that he wouldn’t return like he always did. A republic officer stood and cleared his throat, drawing Tucker’s attention. “We’ve been ordered to move in on the base with the main force. Pack up, men,” he ordered firmly, walking back to a warthog. Tucker followed suit, swinging himself back into the driver’s seat of a warthog, Caboose still idly daydreaming in the passenger side. He unhooked the keys from his tactical belt, thrusting them in the ignition. As the jeep rumbled to life, Caboose looked over to him. “Are we going to get Church now?” he asked hopefully. “Not now,” Tucker replied simply, causing the other man to look down at the floor of the vehicle, disappointed. Tucker sighed, hoping that this could all be over sooner than later.

—————Radio Jammer Station 1C—————

Carolina unholstered her dual magnum pistols, the silvery metal glinting as she aimed and shot them at Felix without a second thought. Bullets whizzed through the air, one of them grazing the orange mercenary as he jumped out of the way. She dove behind a pillar, which was indeed a smart decision, as moments later Locus unloaded a full clip at her position. Kimball had run down ametal staircase to one of the platform’s balconies, and Carolina watched from cover as she took advantage of her positioning by tossing a grenade between the mercenaries. They both dove in seperate directions, Felix somersaulting into a blistering sprint up onto the balcony. Kimball met him, and the two exchanged melee blows.

Carolina was about to come out from behind the pillar to help Kimball, but looked back at Locus, who was advancing toward her cover, SAW in hand. “Damnit,” she cursed under her breath before tossing a grenade high in the air. The green-accented mercenary directed a hail of bullets skyward to blow it up before it landed, which worked. But in that time, Carolina closed the gap between the two. She pistol-whipped him on the dome of his helmet, causing him to stumble backward. She jumped to stand over him, kicking his gun away and pointing a pistol down at him.

He immediately slapped it out of her hand with such force that she was thrown off balance before being pushed down as Locus stood. The merc ran to get his gun, quickly picking it up and rolling behind cover as Carolina’s shot with her other magnum just barely missed its mark. She looked around for the gun she’d lost, unable to spot it before she felt stabbing pains in her leg. She stumbled backward down a small ramp, limping behind a boulder before Locus could reload. Gazing down at the oozing bullet holes in her thigh, the only thing she could think about was doing the same thing to Locus, but worse.

She stepped out of cover, aiming her pistol, but a burst from Locus’ gun shot it out of her hand. She grasped for the trigger of a weapon that was no longer there, barely able to realize what had happened before she was slammed to the ground by the silent mercenary and held down. She continued to struggle until he curb-stomped her abdomen with his boot, making her cough red onto the inside of her visor. She blurrily made out that Kimball was losing a close-range fight, watching as she tried to uppercut Felix for a free shot to follow up with. He countered with a swift dodge and savage elbow thrown to the side of the Republican leader’s head, making her crumple to the ground, seemingly unconscious. Carolina let out a strangled noise of shock as Felix kneeled beside the limp body.

Carolina screamed as Felix’s knife eviscerated the limp body of Kimball, the stainless steel blade slicing open suit and skin, ripping and tearing through the flesh underneath. He kept sawing at and fileting her abdomen, the gushing blood and slimy, grisly intestinal innards being his sick reward for such an act. He stuck a knife into her throat, the blade easily gliding through the mesh undersuit and sinking deep into her windpipe. The unhinged man grinned maniacally as he severed the head, still in the helmet, hoisting it into the air as if it were a trophy. Carolina couldn’t stomach it, hurling in her helmet and being forced to tear it off of her head. She wiped her face with her forearm, her eyes watering as an expression of horror was plastered on her countenance.

Her gaze was forced back to the mercenary standing atop her as Locus shifted even more weight onto his right boot, which was planted firmly on her heaving chest. She couldn’t find the strength, nor reasoning, to attempt to escape this position. He unholstered his shotgun from his back, pointing it at her face. She stared down the abyssally dark barrel of the black, steel firearm.

_So, this was where it ended? After everything, the mercenaries would get the best of them?_

_She at least hoped Sharkface would rig and destroy the platform successfully, so that the armies could stop fighting after they got the message that the mercenaries were using them._

_Then, they’d have a chance. A chance to-_

Her thoughts were cut off when Locus was tackled off of her by a diving, armored figure. She quickly scrambled to her feet to see Sharkface wrestling with Locus on the ground, the two strong soldiers exchanging melee blows. She spun around to see Felix sprinting toward her, his visor glinting with the rays of the setting sun as he charged, knives drawn and dual-wielded. Carolina drew her own singular, smaller knife for a lack of firearms, and although she realized her disadvantage, moved to meet the attack. Felix slashed at her midsection first, which she weaved to avoid, and in turn dodged her retaliatory strike. Taking advantage, he stabbed his other knife between her shoulder blades before she could recover, eliciting a pained cry from her.

She vigorously shook him off, charging at him once more with fury in her eyes. This time she managed to gouge him in the side, with only one of his blades managing to slice a cut across the bridge of her nose. She growled and spun to pounce once more, slicing his leg as he nicked her bicep. “Feisty today, aren’t we?” Felix taunted before darting through her legs, slicing her ankle as he moved. “Argh! Fuck off!” she yelled in frustration and pain, connecting a roundhouse kick to his midsection. He backed off, spluttering from the force of that melee attack for the moment, allowing her to brace herself for the next round of fighting. She turned to momentarily glance at Sharkface and Locus fighting.

**_BAM_ **

A blinding muzzle flash erupted from the barrel of the shotgun, a large metal slug hurtling through the air. It impacted the mercenary in the front of his helmet, leaving a crater-like inversion in the armor as it cut through the skin and flesh like a butter knife, before piercing the skull underneath. The projectile completely shattered the frontal portion of the bone casing, lodging itself in the softer brain. Locus’ lifeless body dropped to the ground with a sickening thud. Felix turned his head at the sound of the shot, and watched his partner slump to the metal surface underneath him.

**_“NO!“_ **

That was the raw, heart-wrenching scream that tore from Felix’s lips as Locus fell. Carolina stood and watched as he ran over to his partner’s body, crouching beside and shaking it, his eyes wide and tearing up, expression one of shocked disbelief. He frantically ripped his partner’s helmet off to find a hole in the other man’s forehead, exactly where it had been in his helmet. The side of his left eye socket had been crushed, the crimson burst oozing out and down his face like an egg’s runny yolk. Carolina flinched at the sight, seeing that Felix just stared at this grotesque scene, his expression blank as his reddened eyes were glued to it. Sharkface slowly backed away from the corpse and the distraught man next to it.

Carolina’s gaze moved to Washington, who held the smoking gun. Armored in his same gray and yellow, he stood there, frozen in place for the moment. She was shocked to see this man-turned-monster betray his partners in crime. Then, before she knew it, the shotgun hit the metal deck as the armored man bolted away. “You bastard!” Felix shouted with the utmost bloodlust and rage in his tone, launching into a sprint to catch the fleeing traitor. Neither she nor Sharkface attempted to stop him, as they stood on opposite sides of the deceased Locus. Carolina limped over to Sharkface, the bullet wounds in her leg aching terribly as she leaned on him. He tiredly slung her arm over his shoulder, and the two stumbled back toward the warthog she and Kimball had taken there.

Sharkface helped her into the warthog and buckled her in before running around to the driver’s side and jumping in, following suit before starting the vehicle. “But... Kimball...” Carolina managed to choke out in a weak protest. “No time... gonna have to be a cremation instead of a burial,” Sharkface stated grimly. He floored it as he swerved around boulders while driving away from the facility, eventually making it into an open field. He kept driving as fast as possible, never looking back. Even when the earth-shaking explosion rang in their ears from a mile behind them, he did not so much as glance toward the way they had come. Carolina tucked her cut and bruised face into her armored shoulder as they sped away.

_They had won... but at what cost?_


End file.
